Twice Bitten, Once Shy: Confessions of a Fake Psychic Detective #5

Chapter 19

Tie Me a Noose

"Get me a rope. Long rope," Zandra says to Chad. "And a life jacket."

Chad rubs the back of his neck. "Errrr, ahhh, m'kay."

What is he uncertain about?

"They can't be that hard to find. Just don't go asking around, that's all," Zandra says.

"No, it's like, I came in here for a reason, you know?" Chad says.

Oh.

"You're going to have to do that somewhere else," Zandra says.

"Why? Just give me a minute. I'll go quick," Chad says.

Because no one can know that I'm in here.

"Because you'd be poisoning my reading of the blood, child," Zandra says. "This is a sensitive environment. A special environment. Too risky."

Chad shrugs. "Guess I'll just piss off the side of the boat then."

Those fish better not have a drug test coming up.

"Don't draw attention to yourself. Go back to your cabin to use the bathroom," Zandra says.

"Yeah, about that, we figured out our room, but we got locked out, I guess?" Chad says.

Zandra is reminded why talking with Chad is like talking with a canker sore.

"Fine. The world is your toilet," Zandra says. "Let me know the condition of the water."

"Probably wet. About to get wetter," Chad says without even a hint of sarcasm.

Chad leaves the bathroom to, presumably, hang his diseased dick over the side of the Curd Queen. Zandra passes the time with a study of the dried blood. There isn't much to analyze. The splatters, splotches, and stains are random.

Or are they?

Zandra looks for the sequential patterns of contraction, expansion, and trend in the blood.

No. They don't apply here. Or maybe I don't see it.

Anyway, this blood is as random as spilled coffee.

Fuck, I need a cigarette.

Chad returns a minute later, sans life jacket and rope.

"What the fuck?" Zandra says from the toilet.

"What?" Chad says and turns the sink on. "Washing my hands. Don't want to be gross."

That ship sailed a long time ago.

"Life jacket. Long, sturdy rope. Go," Zandra says.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm going," Chad says and shifts to dry his hands. He tears a sheet of paper towel instead of hitting the button on the automatic dryer. "Gotta keep quiet, you know."

Congratulations on not being an absolute fucking moron.

"How is the water?" Zandra says.

"Flat. No ripples or anything. I think it's extra deep here," Chad says.

"So calm?"

"Calm, yeah."

Excellent.

Chad leaves once again, and once again Zandra is left to the deep recesses of her mind.

Fuck, I still need a cigarette.

She searches the area around the toilet. Stuffed behind the bowl is a small roll of plastic trash liners. Zandra unrolls a liner and shakes it out. She reaches into her deep pocket and pulls out her pack of cigarettes and a lighter. She drops both into the liner, then twists the loose plastic into a knot. Grabbing a second liner, she repeats the process, double bagging the cigarettes and lighter.